And for the first time, after so long a time, the old engineer clearly understood everything.
Annihilated by the realization of this new disaster, no longer having any heart to defend himself, the wretched man let his arms fall. And just at this moment Manolo, beside himself with rage, plunged the fatal blade into his breast.
Now with his vengeance complete, the parricide took to flight.
Amadeo Zureda, dying, was carried to the hospital. There, that same night, Don Adolfo came to see him. The good neighbor's grief was terrible, even to the point of the grotesque.
"Is it true, what people are saying?" he asked, weeping. "Is it true?"
The wounded man had hardly strength enough to press his hand a very little.
"Good-by, Adolfo," he stammered. "Now I know what I—had to know. You told me, but I—couldn't believe it. But now I know you—were right. Manolo was not—my son——"